


Non-Verbal

by allofuswithwings



Category: Muse (Band)
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, Hullabaloo Era, M/M, Mouth Kink, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, POV First Person, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:08:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27629308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allofuswithwings/pseuds/allofuswithwings
Summary: During the Hullabaloo tour, Dom has gotten to breaking point with something about Matt.
Relationships: Matt Bellamy/Dom Howard
Kudos: 4





	Non-Verbal

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from Livejournal/Dreamwidth. Originally posted April 2009.

I don’t think he was expecting it, really. Well, to be honest, who the fuck would be? But I just couldn’t help myself; it was something that had been driving me nuts. For a very long time. And I just cracked.

And I really don’t think he even realised it. He didn’t know what he was doing to me, and everyone else for that matter. The difference was that I, unlike his millions of adoring fans, could do something about it. Probably shouldn’t have, and I knew it at the time, but it still didn’t stop me.

I pulled him aside after that amazing show in Paris, growling in his ear that I needed to talk to him, in private. He didn’t seem particularly confused, we’ve always been exceptionally close and excluded Tom and Chris to just have each other’s company. That’s what made it easier to do what I did, because no-one would come looking for us too quickly.

I bustled him away from the bar, down a corridor and into an empty room. He went to speak, probably to ask me what was up, but I just pressed him against the wall, my eyes wild with desperation. He looked so raw that night; hair still styled up off his head at all angles, skin glowing with post-gig warmth, and that shiny, black theatrical shirt that clung tightly to his wiry frame.

But it was that unassuming void just above his chin that was the key, the trigger in all of this. All night I’d watched him wail and moan with that lovely wet mouth of his; so soft and round, curved and yielding in ways that made my retinas burn. Those tender pink lips fallen open as he lost himself in the music, with clutched guitar and forehead pressed against the amps, I’d had the perfect view from where I sat.

So what the fuck was I _meant_ to do with this moist, inviting opening that had been taunting me all night? There was only one thing I _could_ do. I shoved my fucking fingers in there.

His eyes bulged as I thrust my first two digits into his unsuspecting mouth, holding his body against the wall with my slightly bigger frame so he couldn’t get away. My other hand knotted in his hair, keeping his head still as I probed those wet depths, a groan escaping my lips.

He struggled, a series of protesting, panicked noises emerging from his throat, and a flush rose into his cheeks. His hands clawed at my shirt, trying to push me off, but I was too caught up with the sight and sensation of my fingers diving into and out of his mouth, saliva beginning to coat my digits. His jaw jerked slightly and tongue squirmed, attempting to adjust to this intrusion and escape my reach.

But I refused to stop. His mouth needed a good finger-fucking, and I’d be damned if I’d let anyone else pop that cherry. Those lips, that tongue, were mine to violate, and with every passing second I felt myself getting harder and harder. And I’m sure he felt it too, the way I ground my hips into his, it would have been a pretty difficult thing to ignore.

He continued his objections, trying to say my name and shaking my shoulders with distressed, grappling fingers. But this only furthered my arousal, because each time he tried to speak, it would induce more wetness from under his tongue and blow hotter breaths across my hand.

My fingers moved quicker and more desperately with each stroke, shoving in and out across those rosy, abused lips and making him gag as I went a little too far. His eyelids blinked rapidly in alarm, eyes watering, and all I could think was how fucking gorgeous he looked like this, defiled by my fingers.

My breaths heaved, the rush of arousal overwhelming me and making me pulse with blood and testosterone. I was rutting against his small frame with more vigour than any of my most desperate of fucks, and I reached a hand down to yank open my fly and grab hold of myself.

To stifle my cries, I closed my mouth over his, though my digits still remained inside as I kissed him, tongue wet and messy. I swore and grunted his name each time I came up for air, too wired to think of anything coherent other than how much I loved his mouth.

The tension in my body rocketed up as my hand moved firmly and rapidly, jerking myself off as I played with his tongue under my fingertips and traced the inside of his cheeks. My fingers were sodden with his saliva now, the lubrication so warm and slippery it made every fibre of my being ache with need. There was nothing I wanted more in the world in that second than him and his fucking glorious mouth.

And I needed it in the worst way possible. With more than just my fingers in there.

I released my erection to resume the tight grip on his hair, pulling his head back and laying my weight forward on him. I pressed him harder against the wall and then down so his knees buckled, and he struggled to stand. Lifting a leg up, I pinned his chest with my knee, my fingers still buried in his mouth despite his best attempt to remove them as he shook his head.

My digits only slipped from that moist opening as they were replaced by something much larger and harder, cutting off his strangled, hysterical curse of protest. His noises were masked by my own moans, the sensation of burying myself inside his mouth almost too much for me.

Hands knotted in his hair, the strokes back and forth past his wet, warm lips made me come undone, lungs burning for air and veins pounding with rushing blood. My hips jerked of their own accord, beginning a quick, relentless pace to satiate my need.

Looking down at him only escalated this wild desperation; the way his eyes alternated between wide disbelief and screwed up confusion was mesmerising, as though he was unable to process exactly what was happening to him. And the shape of his lips over my shaft as I plunged in and out was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life; those slender pink forms looking like they belonged there, writhing and slippery on my skin.

I felt my stomach coil tight as orgasm began to threaten me in a sudden rush, the sensations of his mouth arousing me so quickly there was no hope of holding on for long. My grip on his hair tightened, and I angled his head further back to push myself deeper, whimpering as further pleasure washed over me.

I watched as his eyes watered at taking me so completely, but couldn’t find myself to be in the least bit sympathetic; it felt too fucking good for me to care. In fact, his muffled cries simply sent waves of vibrations trembling up his throat and through my erection, making my knees buckle. As had seemed to be the case the whole time, the more he fought it, the better it was for me.

My pelvis bucked erratically now, relentlessly fucking this mouth that I couldn’t get out of my head and felt the urge to defile. The sight of it when he sang, played his guitar, and even when he ranted about conspiracy theories, had done things to me for so long that there seemed no other satisfying outcome for my body but this.

Orgasm took me quickly and violently, and I released myself into his mouth in shuddering jerks, crying out like I was dying. To come so hard that it hurt was a revelation to me, something induced only by Matt’s beautiful mouth, and something I will never forget as long as I live. I felt him struggle, but I held on, unwilling to relinquish this intense pleasure for even a moment. During those last spasms, I yanked Matt’s hair back and withdrew myself from his mouth, allowing the last of my cum to spill over his rosy, swollen lips and down his chin.

I looked down to see him frozen like that for a few moments, completely shocked and bewildered, with his gorgeous mouth fallen open and smeared with my sticky release. It lingered on his tongue, and I watched him swallow thickly before reality came crashing back in.

Eyes blazing, he scrubbed violently at his mouth and face with the back of his hands, spitting and swearing, body shaking. He shoved me off, yelling a string of expletives with strangled voice, and I fell backwards onto my arse, my legs much too weak now to hold me up. He shook his head, as though trying to erase the memories and taste from himself, expression contorted with a mix of rage and humiliation.

The fist to my jaw and boot to my stomach were not at all unexpected, and I doubled over, prone on the ground with a sloppy grin on my face.

_You fucking wanker!_

Even as his curses echoed in my ears and he fled the room, livid, I couldn’t help the feeling of jubilation and satisfaction that swept over me. If he’d truly wanted me to stop, he could have easily sunk his teeth in. But he did no such thing.

And I still I love that mouth of his.


End file.
